Darkness and Light
by Julia9
Summary: (WIP) Set right after S5 finale...Dawn jumps off the tower instead of Buffy. What happens next?
1. Prologue

  
**Darkness and Light**   
By Julia

**Spoilers**: follows the Buffyverse timeline up to the last episode of Season 5, "The Gift," then spirals into my AU world.   
**Rating**: PG13 (for language)   
**Summary**: In the end of the battle with Glory, Dawn jumps off the tower, not Buffy. How will this change life in Sunnydale? And what happens when Buffy starts to see another side of Spike??  
**Disclaimer**: I own nothing; Joss owns everything, I just borrow the characters for my own amusement.  


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**Prologue**

The spring air was cool against her skin; a light wind ruffled her hair, draping the chestnut tresses across her face, temporarily obscuring her vision. Dawn Summers was frozen in place, her wrists bound against the waist-high bars on either side of the shaky platform. The tower built by Glory's minions swayed in the wind, the metal supports creaking back and forth. Shallow cuts on her torso dripped blood, glistening red droplets that spilled into the inky black night as the teenager looked in horror at the battle raging beneath her. She could barely make out Buffy's blonde hair amidst the sea of hairy goblin-like demons that surrounded the tower. Tears burned her eyes and Dawn blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. 

A thick fog of pain enveloped her senses but Dawn knew that she was responsible for this chaos, that her blood was the key to Glory's resurrection. The frightening demon Spike had called Doc, the one she had gone to for a spell to bring Joyce back from the dead, had sliced her stomach moments before Spike had charged up the steps. The thin trickle of blood was all that was needed in order to destroy the thin barriers between dimensions. Now all hell was quite literally breaking loose, the lines of fantasy and reality blurred into oblivion, as otherworldly demons appeared from inside the glowing rift in the sky. 

The thin platform beneath her feet groaned as Spike lunged at Doc, his gold eyes flashing. He could see the tiny drops of blood falling from the edge of the demon's knife, Dawn's blood. Spike had been too late, the ritual had already begun by the time he raced onto the platform. But that hadn't stopped Spike from vamping out, he was currently trying to wrestle the knife away from Doc, before the beady-eyed demon could finish what he had begun. 

An enormous beast that resembled a medieval dragon pushed its way through the portal, the deafening roar startling Doc, giving Spike just the opportunity he needed. Twisting the demon's wrist until it snapped with a sickening crunch, Spike flung the knife off the tower. Dawn shuddered involuntarily at the look Doc gave Spike, it was pure evil; the demon's black eyes glittered with insanity, something Spike was all too familiar with after spending decades with Drusilla. 

"Fool," he hissed at Spike, "did you think it would be so simple? The blood's already begun to fall."

Before he could say anymore, Spike flung him off the tower with a primal roar. Dawn shuddered, she had never seen Spike in the midst of his vampiric fury and it scared her. When he turned back towards her however, the rough ridges and fangs were gone, replaced by the human mask she knew so well. She couldn't hold back her tears; everything was so overwhelming, a thousand different emotions coursing through her at once. Spike tore the rope off her one wrist, mumbling something that was supposed to sound soothing, the sounds of battle drifting up the steps of the tower.

Leaning over the side, Spike could see Buffy chasing Glory as the Hell Goddess tried to ascend the tower. His Slayer was swinging the Hammer of Olaf, or was it Orion? He couldn't remember who the bloody thing belonged to; all that mattered was that Buffy was twirling it around like it weighed no more then an ounce. They were one level away from the top, only a few steps separating Glory from her precious Key. "Stay here," Spike snapped at Dawn, leaping down the stairs to help Buffy. Between the two of them, the leggy blonde psychopath didn't stand a chance.

Dawn meanwhile was struggling to untie her rope bonds with one hand, transfixed by the battle going on a few feet away. Finally the knots gave way and her wrists were free. Massaging feeling back into her cold hands, Dawn wrapped her arms around her body, ready to run down the steps into the arms of her sister and Spike. 

"You're not the brightest God in the heavens are you," Buffy snapped, ramming the hammer into Glory's stomach. 

The momentum sent the goddess backwards, right into Spike's vice-like arms. He smashed his forehead against the back of Glory's skull and she slumped limply in his arms. The transformation was amazing, right before their eyes Glory changed into the face of Ben, the mild-mannered doctor who Buffy had thought was kinda cute in a geeky way. 

"What the hell," Buffy muttered under her breath, finally understanding why she'd had such an awful time tracking Glory. Spike just growled in fury, hurling Ben's body off the tower and down to the ground below. 

The wind was stronger now, shaking the tower back and forth with every gust. Buffy looked up at the platform where Dawn was still standing, her eyes meeting Spike's. 

"We've got to get off of this thing," she screamed, trying to be heard over the howling gusts. 

Spike didn't answer; he grabbed the railing, prepared to race back up the platform towards Dawn when he realized that she wasn't near the stairs. 

Tears were falling rapidly down Dawn's pale cheeks and her lips trembled as she looked out at the widening rift in the night sky. She swallowed hard, her hands sticky with the blood that had seeped through her velvet gown. Looking down, Dawn could make out the purple polish of her toes from beneath the billowing hem of the dress. She felt so old; she could feel the Key's power, her power, coursing through her veins. Smiling faintly, she turned her head to look back at Buffy and Spike. 

"Take care of each other," she said softly, her voice ringing clearly in their ears despite the screeching wind. 

Light from the portal continued to fill the sky, rivaling the brightest sunrise, as more demons continued to pour out. The Earth shook with each new arrival as screams filling the air pitched into an eerie crescendo. Buffy and Spike both yelled for her to stop, but Dawn was already leaping off the shaky tower. 

"I love you." Dawn's voice was still resounding loudly in their heads, even as she flew through the air. 

"Dawnie, no," Buffy howled, her face contorted in anguish as the tears spilled over her cheeks. 

Her arms extended like an angel in flight, Dawn fell into the rift, suspended in midair. Everyone's gaze was transfixed on the portal, as the Key's glowing green energy overtook Dawn's human body. The portal writhed and twisted as the emerald light continued to expand, sealing the rift. As the rift closed, the abandoned construction area was bathed in a faint green light, illuminating the faces of the people that Dawn had jumped to save. Shadowy blackness reclaimed the sky, the lightening sky reminding below that there were only a few minutes until sunrise. 


	2. Her World

  


On the staircase below the platform, Spike stood motionless, his icy blue eyes focused on his Nibblet as she launched herself into the air. A tortured howl escaped from his throat and he clenched his fists in fury over the senseless death. Buffy stood a few feet in front of him, her knuckles white as she squeezed the railing tightly. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the platform, despite the precarious swaying of the tower. 

Down below the tower, Xander stepped from the dusty rubble, Anya in his arms. Her temple was bleeding profusely and she wrapped her arms firmly around Xander's neck to steady herself. Her human emotions were in conflict with her demon mind as she struggled to understand what had just happened; for the first time in years, Anya was speechless. Tara clung to Willow, her strength drained from Glory's magic. Both witches were crying, they struggled to stay standing as they watched Dawn save the world. Tara dug her hands into the slender shoulders of her girlfriend, crying for the lives that had been destroyed that night. 

Giles was surrounded by piles of rubble, his cheeks wet with tears as he stared blankly into the now dark sky. He took off his glasses, staring in confusion at the mass of wire and glass crumbling beneath his fingertips. Unable to clean the splintered lenses, Giles hurled the metal frames into the distance, blaming himself and the council for not being able to stop Glory before things got out of hand. 

Soft footsteps broke through the stillness of the night as Buffy climbed down the tower, leaning heavily on her left leg, Spike a few steps behind her. She stopped at the foot of the tower, surveying the damage surrounding everyone, not sure what to say. All eyes slowly turned, tears flowing freely as the crushing emotions crackled through the construction site. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the right words, as she gave in to the welcoming blackness that was steadily enveloping her. 

Spike caught Buffy as she began to fall backwards, cradling her body against his chest before she could hit the ground. Shifting the slender blonde in his arms, Spike looked at the faces surrounding the tower; his eyes flickered from Giles over to Willow, lingering for an instant on Tara, before moving sideways towards Anya and Xander. They all shared the same haunted look, numb with grief, overwhelmed with exhaustion. Spike shook his head, no matter how hard he tried to pretend that he didn't care about the Scoobies, there was something admirable about their small family. He'd never seen a group of people so devoted to each other, not when he was alive and especially not after he was turned. 

Spike shook his head, drawing himself out of his musings. The impending sunrise meant that he needed to get to shelter, but Spike couldn't just leave everyone standing in the now quiet battlefield. "Is everyone alright?" His voice sounded too loud, cutting through the eerie silence like a cannon blast. Slowly the friends exchanged glances, nodding their heads in agreement. Spike exhaled loudly, shifting Buffy higher in his embrace. He knew that everyone needed to leave the empty lot before the police arrived and asked questions that no one could answer. 

"Watcher," he said, turning to Giles, "can you give me a lift back to Revello Drive? Gotta get Sleeping Beauty home before I turn into a pile of ash." 

The older man nodded, his lips tightening in silent disapproval; he didn't agree with Spike being the one designated to take care of Buffy, but he was too tired to argue with the blonde vampire. Giles gestured around at the other four people, "what about the rest of you," he asked. 

Willow tightened her grip on Tara's shoulder, "we're alright to walk home," she said quietly, looking at her girlfriend for reassurance. Nodding emphatically in agreement with his best friend, Xander set Anya down onto the concrete, keeping one arm wrapped securely around her shoulders. "We'll be fine too. I left my truck at the Magic Box, so we can head back from there." 

Spike smirked, his face quickly turning grim as he addressed the entire group again. "Well then get going before you all collapse." 

The Scoobies nodded and everyone began to walk in opposite directions. Giles was glad that someone else had taken charge of the situation, that someone else hiding his own feelings in an effort to maintain control. For all his faults, Spike did have several redeeming qualities that the Watcher was extremely grateful for in a time of crisis. As he opened the car door, Giles made a mental note to buy Spike some expensive liquor after the dust had settled. 

During the entire drive back to Buffy's house, Spike fidgeted, mentally calculating how many minutes he had until sunrise. Thankfully Giles pulled into her driveway with a few minutes to spare, leaving Spike enough time to race though the front door with Buffy cradled in his arms. Giles turned off the ignition, letting the quiet hum and click of the car's engine soothe his exhausted psyche. He sighed heavily, reaching into the backseat of the car for an ornate ax that Spike had picked up from amidst the rubble, muttering something about always falling for girls who liked weaponry over jewelry. 

Slamming the car door shut behind him, Giles slowly made his way up the front steps of Buffy's house. He stood in the foyer, watching Spike move around the living room, settling Buffy onto the sofa and tucking a chenille blanket around her thin shoulders. Sighing again, Giles pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting an almost overwhelming urge to clean his glasses. He wanted to pretend that there was nothing between Buffy and Spike, but one could only stay in Egypt for so long. Anyone could see the love reflected in the vampire's sharp features; it was obvious that Spike was devoted to Buffy, Giles observed, watching the way he brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. Giles shook his head ruefully, despite his faults Spike truly was in love with the blonde Slayer. 

Moving across the foyer he propped Buffy's ax up against the newel post, making sure not to bang the blade against the worn Oriental rug. Giles cleared his throat quietly, tearing Spike's attention away from Buffy and towards her Watcher. Tilting his head towards Giles, Spike got up from his kneeling position beside the sofa, moving across the living room to stand beside the former librarian. 

"Is she asleep," Giles asked, jutting his chin in the direction of the soda. Spike nodded slowly, raking a hand through his bleached hair. 

"Yeah," he replied quietly. 

Giles smiled grimly, "good, she needs the rest," he said, fixing Spike with a fierce stare. 

"She's been through a lot." 

Spike suppressed a smile at the threatening note in the other man's voice. "I hear you loud and clear Watcher," he said. 

"Good," Giles said, turning towards the front door, "I trust you'll make sure she's alright?" 

Too dumbfounded to make a sarcastic comment, Spike just nodded, watching Giles step out into the sunlight. Once the door shut, Spike sank down onto the bottom step of the stairs, his head cradled between his palms. 

"Not how I was expecting that to go," he mumbled. 

In the living room, Buffy's eyelids fluttered open, taking in the shadowy darkness of her living room. Raising herself up on one elbow, Buffy squinted at the black-clad figure sitting on her staircase. 

"Spike," she asked, her voice cracking. 

"Yeah, pet," he replied, getting off the steps to sit on the coffee table in front of Buffy. Her blood-shot eyes looked over at him questioningly. 

"What happened," she mumbled, not remembering what happened after she had stumbled off the tower. 

"Brought you home, luv," Spike said, toying with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. Buffy nodded, drawing her knees towards her chin, tucking one hand beneath her head. 

"Thanks," she whispered, her eyes drooping shut against her will. 

A grim smile tugged at the corners of Spike's mouth; Buffy looked beautiful lying on the sofa, the hazy realm of sleep erasing all traces of a Slayer scarred from countless battles. The muscles in his jaw were twitching in a steady rhythm as Spike tried to think of the best way to get out of Buffy's house before she reached for a stake. 

"Right then, let me get a blanket and I'll be out of your way," he began, moving slowly towards the front door. 

His hand was resting on the brass doorknob when Spike heard Buffy call his name, soft enough for only him to hear. In an instant he was in the doorframe of the living room, the borrowed blanket discarded in the foyer. 

"Yeah," he asked, careful to keep his face a mask of indifference. The petite Slayer had been through so much already, the last thing she needed was him blabbering on about his undying love for her. 

"Stay with me," she whispered hoarsely, her face twisted as if she was in pain. "I don't want to be alone." Her voice hitched, and Buffy cringed, knowing how childish she probably sounded to Spike's ears. 

Spike nodded, giving no inkling that he'd noticed her emotional state. 

"Sure thing, luv." 

Settling himself into an armchair, Spike smiled reassuringly, "it's alright, Slayer. Go to sleep." 

Buffy sighed softly, her eyes drifting slowly drifting shut, her exhausted body sinking into the plush cushions of the sofa. She snuggled against the throw pillow, grateful that Spike had not positioned her with her head facing the doorway. It was too much to think of her mom sprawled out on this same couch, in nearly the same position, as she submitted to her disease. She didn't want to think about her mom or her sister, nor did she want to think about how weird it was to have Spike in her house. Her thoughts trailed off as Buffy fell into a light sleep. 

Raking a hand through his bleached curls, Spike tried to figure out what was going on. A few days ago Buffy was threatening to kill him if he didn't leave town and now she wanted him to stay in her house, while she was asleep no less. Spike waited several long minutes, until Buffy's breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm before moving her upstairs. Having napped on the Summers couch after a particularly long chat with Joyce, he knew it was not the greatest bed on the Hellmouth. When she woke up, Buffy was going to have a lot to deal with and most of her aching joints could be prevented with a quick trip upstairs. 

He kicked open the door to her room, carefully depositing Buffy on her bed. Tucking another blanket around her bony shoulders, Spike pulled off her boots and placed her worn pink pig next to her head. He stood in the doorway for several long moments, just watching the steady rise and fall of Buffy's chest. Spike could have watched her for hours, studying every curve of her face, memorizing the gentle lines of her mouth, drinking in her beauty. 

"Mmm," Buffy murmured, pressing her head deeper into the pillow, a thin line appearing between her golden eyebrows. Spike froze, forgetting that he didn't need to breathe, hoping that his presence hadn't tugged her from the sleep she desperately needed. 

Turning onto her stomach, Buffy draped one arm across the empty space of her mattress. Her breathing slowed again, her steady heartbeat the only sound in the room. Spike closed the bedroom door as he walked into the hallway. He walked down the hall, away from the stairs, towards the bedroom where the door was still ajar. Pushing open the white door covered with pictures and phrases cut out from magazines, Spike looked around Dawn's room without stepping inside. Her room was so different then Buffy's, it was filled with stuffed animals, the walls covered with celebrity headshots and clipping of boy-bands, clothes strewn over a wicker chair in the corner. 

Spike swallowed hard, he could never think of Dawn as The Key, she was Buffy's sister. It didn't matter what the monks said, he would always remember the smiling girl with long brown hair who'd whined and complained about having to spend afternoons in his crypt while Buffy researched the latest information about Glory. His eyes burned and Spike clenched his fists angrily, the knuckles pure white against his already alabaster skin. He hated the monks for what they had done, to Buffy and to the rest of her friends. No one deserved to have their memories altered just for the sake of protecting some ancient secret, it just wasn't right. 

Closing the door behind him, Spike walked back down the stairs. His footsteps echoed through the house, as Spike wandered into the living room. Settling himself in front of the television, he made four passes through every channel that the minimal cable package offered before turning off the set. Spike walked into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on any lights. He knew exactly what he was doing, Spike had watched Joyce make hot chocolate at least a dozen times and he remembered every move she had made. 

Pouring the steaming chocolate into a mug, he threw in a handful of almost stale miniature marshmallows buried in the back of the cabinet. Buffy really need to go shopping, he observed, making a mental note to remind her that the kitchen cabinets were almost empty. He walked back through the house, sipping his chocolate idly, pausing occasionally to look at something or another. Sitting back down on the sofa, Spike stared blankly at the empty living room, "this is definitely not what I'd expected." He'd never imagined that he could feel so comfortable in Buffy's house, in her life, in a world that he had never truly belonged to. But now, sitting in her living room, the air conditioner humming softly as it cooled the house, Spike couldn't imagine being anywhere else. 


	3. Regrets

  
The house was too quiet, Buffy thought, her eyes tracing the random patterns of her popcorn ceiling. She could practically feel the silence, a heavy oppressive feeling that seemed to swell with every passing minute. Sitting up, Buffy reached down to disentangle the blanket that had wrapped itself around her legs while she was asleep. Crumpling the fleece blanket into a heap, she threw it onto the floor, pressing her head back against her flattened pillow. She closed her eyes, trying to clear her sleep-fogged brain. 

Buffy crossed her arms over her torso, too distracted to notice the sharp pain in her side as she pressed against a fresh bruise. She could only imagine how many different colored bruises were still appearing all over her body. Buffy felt like she'd been hit by a bus repeatedly, both physically and emotionally. Rolling onto her side, Buffy stared bleary-eyed at the digital clock on her nightstand. 

"Seven-ten," she muttered, trying to figure out whether it was day or night. Getting off her bed, Buffy walked over to the window, leaning heavily on the ledge as she moved the curtains away with her left hand. 

Outside a bright red sun was slowly dipping down beneath a purple and pink streaked sky. "Night," she said, stepping back away from the window and walking slowly towards her mirror, trying to assess the damage inflicted from the previous night's battle. 

Her face was pale white, covered in fiery red scratches and dark purple bruises that her Slayer healing had yet to take care of. "I look like hell," she observed dryly, lifting her limp blonde hair off her shoulders and into a loose ponytail, securing the strands with a plastic clip. Pulling off her rumpled clothes, Buffy reached into her closet for a bathrobe, tying the belt tightly around her narrow waist. She crept down the hall towards the bathroom, feeling out of place in her own house. 

Buffy closed the bathroom door behind her, resting her head against the painted wood. Her eyes welled up with tears, the weight of the last few days finally catching up with her. She closed her eyes, letting thin streams of water cascade over her cheeks. With a shaky hand, Buffy wiped her eyes, moving across the tiled floor towards the tub. She turned the faucets all the way to hot, hoping that the scalding water would break through her feelings of dissociation. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she cupped her hands under running water, letting it spill through her palms. When the water was finally steaming, Buffy turned on the shower nozzle and stepped into the welcoming mist. 

Downstairs, Spike re-shelved the book he'd been reading for the last four hours when he heard the water coursing through the pipes. 

"So she's finally up," he muttered under his breath, glad that Buffy had finally decided to join the land of the living, or in his case, the undead and awake. Spike had been pacing the quiet house all day, his stomach growling fiercely as he tried to convince his body that hot chocolate and slices of pineapple were a good substitute for blood. He put his empty ceramic mug under the running faucet in the kitchen, rinsing away the sticky traces of chocolate and marshmallow. 

Moving the starched white curtain away from the window over the sink, Spike looked out into the night. Now that Buffy was awake and the sun was down, there was nothing keeping him in her house. Nothing except his overwhelming need to protect the fiery blonde and make sure that she was going to be alright. Shaking his head, Spike placed the mug in the dish drainer. Bloody woman's going to drive me insane, he though darkly. Shaking his head, Spike opened several cabinets, searching for something that would qualify as edible. 

The water was streaming over her body in a relentless spray, hundreds of tiny daggers striking Buffy's tired muscles and aching limbs. Shutting off the taps, she wrung out her long blonde hair, watching diamond-like droplets of water fall off the ends. She stood motionless on the tile floor, water dripping over her body, pooling at her feet. Buffy swallowed hard over the lump in her throat; she could still see Dawn standing on the tower, blood dripping down her body. Shaking her head, Buffy clenched her fists tightly, digging her nails deep into her palms, the chipped pink tips making neat crescent marks in the soft skin. When's it going to stop, she thought, how many more people are going to leave me? 

Willing herself to not break down into a hysterical fit, Buffy wrapped her bathrobe around her body for the second time that night. She padded down the hall towards her room, wondering if Spike was still in her house. Shrugging her shoulders, Buffy tried to convince herself that it didn't matter whether or not Spike was downstairs. 

He was just another one of her demon fighters, a friend, someone she could count on. Someone who was head over heels in love with her, who'd offered to stake his Sire for her. Someone with the most amazing blue eyes she'd ever seen, highlighted by perfectly chiseled cheekbones, with a mouth that changed from sensual to devious in an instant. Someone who could see right through her layers of bravado and image, and who loved her regardless. Someone who she would love to see without a shirt, because there had to be some reason that crazy Drusilla stayed with him for over a century. 

"Shit," Buffy swore at her reflection in the mirror, pressing her hands tightly against her temples. "This is Spike I'm talking about! Spike! Evil, evil Spike!" But even as she said the words, Buffy knew that she was just lying to herself. Sure Spike was a vampire, a soulless creature of the night, but there was something else. It wasn't that she was in love with him, nor did Buffy ever forget what, who, Spike was; sometimes she just felt for him. There was something about Spike, when he looked at Buffy with his expressive blue eyes that made her feel like maybe she could depend on him, that she could finally shift some of her burdens to his shoulders. 

A knock on her door caused Buffy to spin around quickly, smacking her knee on the corner of her dresser in the process. She hopped in place, cursing under her breath as she clutched her knee in earnest. Her bedroom door swung open and Spike poked his head inside, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"You alright," he asked Buffy, his scarred eyebrow raised. 

She looked comical, hopping around the room holding her knee while her wet hair flew up and down in the air. 

Indignantly Buffy stopped leaping, she froze on the carpeted floor, her mouth opening and closing like a fish who'd suddenly found himself outside of water. 

Staring at Spike, she snapped, "I'm fine." 

The minute the words fell from her lips, Buffy started to gnaw on her lower lip, wishing she hadn't been so short. Spike shrugged, apparently unconcerned with her attitude. He hadn't been expecting hearts and flowers when she woke up, that was why he was going back to his crypt before Buffy snapped their tentative alliance and came charging at him with a pointy stick. 

"I just wanted to tell you," he began, looking down at her carpet for fear of losing his nerve the minute he looked into her bright eyes. Buffy stared intently at Spike, watching the muscles in his forearms twitch as he clenched and unclenched his fists. 

"The sun's down," he continued, "so I'm heading out. There's some food on the counter if you're hungry. I figured you wouldn't be up for cooking." 

Buffy nodded, ready to thank Spike for staying when he turned abruptly and left the room. 

She stood in her doorway for several minutes, listening to the sound of the front door slamming closed as Spike let himself out into the night. 

"As if my life wasn't already confusing enough," she complained, shutting off her bedroom light. 

Walking downstairs, Buffy stopped in the living room to fluff pillows that were already fluffy and re-fold a blanket draped over the sofa. She felt so strange; Buffy couldn't remember ever having the house all to herself with nothing to do. There were always demons to slay, monsters to tackle, apocalypses to avert, annoying little sisters underfoot asking to stay out past ten o'clock. 

Sighing heavily, Buffy sank down onto the sofa. Pushing aside the curtain that covered the front window, Buffy craned her neck to look out into the darkness. 

"I should patrol," she said half-heartedly, dropping the curtain back. 

Scrunching her body down into a tight ball, Buffy hugged a throw pillow tightly to her chest. Exhaling shakily, she ignored the fierce growls coming from her stomach and the searing pain radiating from between her temples. She didn't want to do anything, Buffy just wanted to lie on the sofa until she stopped hurting. 

"I just want this to be over," she said, trying to swallow over the enormous lump in her throat as a fresh wave of tears stung the back of her listless emerald eyes. 

Spike inhaled deeply, the orange tip of his cigarette burning bright against the night sky. He leaned against the tree in Buffy's front yard, watching her through the opening in the curtains. When she'd pushed the drapes aside, Spike had ducked around the tree, out of her view. He couldn't think of how to explain to Buffy why he was standing in her front yard, just a few minutes after he'd left her house. 

Dropping the cigarette onto the grass, Spike looked down at the steadily growing pile of white filters. He pushed them around with his shoe, hating himself for loving Buffy as much as he did; sometimes he wished that he didn't care, that he wasn't worried about how she was going to keep on living now that her sister was gone. Spike banged the back of his head against the rough tree trunk, staring blankly at the leaves and branches above. For the first time in decades Spike felt overwhelming guilt, he blamed himself for not being fast enough or strong enough to save Dawn. 

"I'm sorry Buffy," he whispered, taking one last look at the brightly lit house before walking down the street towards his crypt. 


	4. Comfort

  
Buffy sank down onto the sofa without even turning on any lights propping her feet up against the coffee table. It had been eight days since the battle with Glory; Dawn's funeral had been that morning, an intimate ceremony following a short church service. Everyone had insisted on coming back to Buffy's house and it had taken her almost five hours to get rid of her well-meaning yet equally irritating friends. Alone at last, Buffy let out a long sigh, the funeral and the subsequent small talk had exhausted her; she was so tired of pretending that everything was all right and trying to convince everyone that she was coping. Buffy let out a harsh laugh; it was absurd to think that she would ever 'get over' her sister's death. 

"At least Dawn's with Mom now," she whispered, the thought sounding more clichéd than comforting. 

She closed her eyes, resting her head against the back of the couch. A sudden knock at the door startled her and Buffy sat straight up. 

"I don't want to deal with anybody," she whined, getting off the sofa and shuffling towards the door. 

"They can take their good intentions and stuff them up their…" 

She trailed off, opening the door to reveal Spike. The blonde vampire looked up, an almost sheepish expression on his chiseled features as he leaned casually against the doorframe. 

"What're you doing here Spike," she asked, her voice heavy. 

Buffy was tired, not in the mood to deal with anyone, especially not Spike. They hadn't talked since the night Dawn died; Buffy had been making every effort to avoid him. She hadn't been patrolling through his cemetery, always saying that she'd stop by his crypt when she had more time. Just the thought of being around Spike sent Buffy stomach into knots; she hated to look vulnerable in front of anyone, especially her former mortal enemy. Besides, she had practically convinced herself that Spike was over his "I'm in love with the Slayer" phase and had reverted to being his familiar pain-in-the ass self. 

Spike stared at Buffy, his eyes taking in every detail of her slightly disheveled appearance. Her hair was pulled back in a clip, but several long strands had escaped and her face was framed by limp tendrils that had lost their curl hours ago. The black shirt was too loose, almost baggy, and Spike wondered how much weight Buffy had lost in the last two weeks. He'd stood outside her house for hours every night, watching the lights flicker on and off as Buffy moved from one room to another. It had taken almost all Spike's self-control to stat outside, he hated seeing her in so much pain, he hated watching Buffy shut herself off from her friends. She was lying to all of them, telling the Watcher that her patrols were under control and refusing to spend time with the witches because she was 'training'. But Spike could see that she was falling apart, he could see the defeat in her face, especially now, right after the funeral. 

"Well," she prompted, lifting her blonde eyebrows expectantly, her green eyes dull, bored. 

Buffy tapped her bare foot on the wooden floor, waiting for Spike to explain what he was doing on her front porch in the middle of the night. Suddenly Spike felt like the world's biggest clod, standing at Buffy's door like an adolescent schoolboy trying to form a coherent sentence in front of a pretty girl. 

"I just came by to see if you needed anything," Spike began, kicking himself for sounding so caring, so weak. 

Clearing his throat, Spike continued, his voice reminiscent of the days when he had been called the 'Scourge of Europe', striking fear into the hearts of humans and minions alike. 

"Vampire population in my cemetery's getting a little thick," he said gruffly. "Figured I'd come by, see if you wanted me to patrol a bit. Just for a night or two. Seeing as you haven't been doing your job." 

To soften the blow of his words, Spike shrugged apologetically, "arrogant bastards make too much noise outside my crypt, can't hear a damn thing on the telly." 

In spite of her overwhelming grief and bleak mood, Buffy smiled. 

"If you want me to thin out the vampire population," she said softly, surprising both herself and Spike with her light tone. "I'd be more then happy to introduce you to Mr. Pointy." 

Raising his scarred eyebrow suggestively, Spike gave Buffy a smirk that sent tremors through her body and left her knees weak. 

"Anytime luv, anytime," he said softly, and Buffy shivered at the sultry tone of his voice. Curling his tongue against the back of his front teeth, Spike stared at Buffy, his blue eyes dark. Shaking her head, Buffy tried to stay focused but being so close to Spike had sent her mind reeling and her heart pounding furiously. 

Spike watched Buffy's cheeks flush scarlet and his lips came together in a narrow grin, knowing the effect his words had on her. But then her face changed, the almost flirty smile disappeared and her eyes sharpened, falling back behind its familiar mask. 

"You're a pig Spike," she snapped, slamming the door in his face with flourish. 

Spike chuckled; he could still hear her heartbeat hammering on the other side of the wooden door. 

"Is that a no to the patrolling," he called, a devilish smile on his pale lips. 

"Go away Spike," Buffy called from behind the door. 

Walking down the front porch steps, Spike whistled tunelessly under his breath, reaching into the pocket of his duster for a cigarette. Putting the unlit white filter between his lips, he patted his coat, searching for his silver lighter. Spike stopped at the end of Buffy's street, touching the flaming Zippo to the edge of his cigarette. 

"Well she smiled," he muttered, taking a long drag, "course she slammed the bloody door in my face two seconds later, but there was a smile there." 

Pleased with himself, Spike walked back towards his crypt in a relatively good mood, his duster fanning out behind him in the cool spring breeze. 

Flopping back down onto the living room sofa, Buffy let out a deep breath that she hadn't noticed she was holding. 

"He's impossible," she complained to the empty house, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile, "absolutely freaking impossible." 

Too tired to think anymore, Buffy allowed her heavy eyelids to droop. She curled up in a tight ball on the sofa, draping the chenille throw over her legs. Almost instantly she fell into a sound sleep, oblivious to the creaks and groans of her house as it settled. 

When she opened her eyes, all Buffy could see was darkness; the inky blackness surrounded the petite blonde like a thick fog. She spun around wildly, trying to find some source of light, some way to figure out where she was. Panic rose in her throat and she fought the urge to scream out in fear. From within the shadows, voices murmured; she strained her ears but could not make out the words. They were coming closer, the sound of chanting resonating loudly in her ears, one word ringing clearly, "Failure." 

Joining together into a haunting chorus, the voices continued their unnerving chant, "failure." The sound was all around her now but Buffy could not see who was mocking her; all the voices were hidden deep within the blackness. 

Slowly the inky darkness began to recede and shadowy figures emerged, illuminated by an unknown light source. Steadily they continued to advance, until she could feel the warmth of their breath on her cheeks, the words ringing in her ears. Buffy strained her eyes and was soon able to make out the faces that encircled her, the speakers of this terrible mantra. Dawn stood in front of her sister, rivers of tears running down her cheeks, the salty moisture mixing with the crimson blood stains that marred her delicate features. 

"You let me die," she shrieked, "I hate you!" 

Faith stood beside the teen, her eyes heavily rimmed with black mascara as she stared at Buffy. Cracking her signature gum, Faith giggled wickedly, "Face it B, you weren't tough enough. Always knew you weren't good enough to be one of us." 

Giles nodded in agreement, the Englishman having just appeared in Buffy's field of vision. Cleaning his glasses slowly, he addressed his slayer, "you could never do anything the right way, could you? Everything had to be your way. Now look at where you are! You're a failure! You don't deserve to be a Slayer." 

Her mother stood in front of her eyes, Joyce's gentle face contorted in rage. "I'm so disappointed in you," she said, her voice filled with anger, "you could never do anything right, could you Buffy? You're a disappointment" 

Before she could say anything in her own defense, a faceless voice from behind Buffy continued, "she was a child and you couldn't save her." 

More voices broke in, "You weren't good enough." "What a failure you are." 

"You should be ashamed of yourself." 

"How could you let this happen?" 

"Death is your gift." 

They advanced on Buffy, their faces fading to shadows as the cacophony of voices assaulted her.

Tears streamed down Buffy's cheeks as she tried to push her way out of the tight circle. Anxiety overwhelmed the petite blonde and she turned away from the angry faces, glaring at her in the suddenly garish light. 

"This is just a dream," she repeated to herself, squeezing her eyelids shut, her head shaking from side to side as she tried to wake up. "None of this is real."

Clenching her hands into tight fists, Buffy peeked out the corners of her eyes. The shadows had vanished, leaving her in the middle of a field. Warm sunlight bathed her face and Buffy smiled as she surveyed the majestic beauty of nature. She sat up, still drinking in the landscape; mountains dotted the horizon, clouds rolled through an impossibly blue sky, a sweetly scented breeze ruffled the tall grass surrounding her. 

With a start, Buffy noticed that she not alone in this meadow paradise. Dawn and Joyce sat forty feet away, their heads tucked together, in the midst of a quiet conversation. Abruptly, the teen's head snapped up and she glared at the Slayer. Dawn pointed her index finger at Buffy, her face a mask of accusation and betrayal. 

"You let me die," she snapped bitterly, her eyes dark with hatred. "This is all your fault." 

Joyce continued, her face contorted with sadness, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, "why couldn't you protect her? She was your sister, for God's sake, and you just let her die like that!" 

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I tried," Buffy cried, tears burning the back of her eyes. 

"Dawnie, I'm sorry! I tried so hard, I'm sorry!" 

But the shadows didn't answer and Buffy woke up with a start, lying alone on her sofa. She was covered in sweat, her face wet with tears, her body trembling violently. Still shaking with a combination of fatigue and turbulent emotions, Buffy scrambled up from the sofa. Grabbing a coat from the hall, she raced out the back door, unable to stay in her house another seconds. Her feet had a mind of their own as she sprinted across Sunnydale, towards the only place she could think of to go; to the only person she trusted to take care of her. 

Buffy stopped abruptly in front of Spike's crypt, her hands resting on her hips. She struggled to catch her breath, taking in several deep gulps of air before raising her hand to knock. Dropping her hand, Buffy pushed open the heavy door and slipped inside. Closing the door behind her, Buffy looked around the dimly lit space, allowing her eyes to adjust. She'd never really paid attention to the crypt, always dashing in and out, trying to spend the least time inside. But now Buffy stood transfixed in the doorway, absorbing every detail, from the armchairs held together with duct tape to the sarcophagus in the corner. Moonlight spilled through the high windows, combining with the two misshapen lamps to illuminate the small space. 

Looking over at the tv set, Buffy could see the back of Spike's head, he was resting in the armchair, his back to the door. A tumbler filled with something dark, blood or maybe brandy, sat in his hand. The television was blaring out the theme song to "Cheers" when Spike turned around to look at Buffy. With a bland expression, he tried to pretend that he was surprised to see the petite blonde, that he hadn't heard her panting outside his door. Spike raised his scarred eyebrow and tipped the tumbler of whiskey in her direction. 

"What's the occasion, pet," he asked casually, trying to sound annoyed and unconcerned at the same instant. 

Almost immediately, Buffy regretted her decision to seek comfort in the bleach-blonde vampire. _I was so stupid to think that he actually cared_, she thought bitterly. 

In retrospect, it all seemed so childish; her seeking comfort from Spike because she couldn't sleep and wanted him to keep the troubling dreams away. From the armchair, Spike watched Buffy carefully, he may have been too short with her but he wasn't in the mood to play punching bag tonight. Indecision flickered across Buffy's face and she gnawed nervously on her lower lip. 

Spike sighed heavily, hating the way her green eyes cut right through any modicum of control he had left. He got out of the chair, standing in front of Buffy, waiting to see if she was going to say anything. His tone was softer this time, holding none of his traditional malice and sarcasm. 

"What's wrong?" 

Buffy took a deep breath and the words began to spill out, faster and faster with each syllable. 

"I keep having nightmares and I can't sleep and Idon'twanttobealone," she mumbled. 

Spike leaned forward to catch the trail end of her sentence, his blue eyes filled with a faint glimmer of hope. 

Pulling an armchair towards the tv set, Spike retrieved a blanket from inside the sarcophagus and threw it in Buffy's direction. She caught it deftly, her head bobbing back and forth between the heavy wool and Spike's face. 

"Well sit down then," Spike ordered gruffly, jerking his chin towards the second chair as he flopped back down in his original seat. 

A ghost of a smile danced over Buffy's face; she sat down on the chair, tucking her feet underneath her body and draping the blanket over her. Closing her eyes, Buffy let out a soft sigh, it was comforting to know that for the first time in a long while that she wouldn't be alone. Spike watched her drift off to sleep, shaking his head ruefully before turning his attention back to the on-screen sitcom. 


	5. Just When You Thought it Was Over

  
Buffy sat up slowly, trying not to stretch the muscles in her shoulders that were screaming in agony. She groaned quietly, her head dropping backwards to look up at the ceiling. Leaning forward, reaching towards her toes, Buffy grimaced as her back let out a satisfying series of pops, the bruised muscles protesting furiously. 

"You have the most uncomfortable couch," she complained to Spike whose head was buried inside his refrigerator. 

"Well the armchair's not that much better," he replied, tossing a bottle of water over the top of the door towards her, narrowly missing the top of her ponytail. 

"Would it kill you to buy a bed," Buffy whined, twisting the cap off the water and taking a long sip. 

"Didn't think you were so forward, pet," Spike said, his face appearing beside Buffy's ear. 

She jumped out of her seat, whirling around to face Spike before remembering her sore back. 

"Ahh," she gasped softly, "that hurt." 

Instantly Spike's face changed from suggestive to concerned. 

"Still," he asked and Buffy nodded slowly. 

"Yeah. Note to self, never try to kill a Dumare demon by jumping on its back." 

Spike interrupted, "I was trying to tell you that it would fall backwards but you weren't paying attention." 

Buffy's eyes narrowed, shooting angry glances in Spike's direction, her voice thick with sarcasm. 

"Hello? Nine foot tall demon in front of me? With big claws? Talons? Whatever the hell you call those pointy nail-things. Didn't really have time for a lesson in fighting strategy." 

Shaking his head, Spike sat down on the sarcophagus, "then stop complaining." 

Buffy's lower lip jutted forward, "but it hurts," she insisted, giving Spike her best wide and innocent eyes. 

"Not my bloody problem," he said, trying to act like her pouting lip wasn't driving him absolutely insane, "nobody twisted your arm into sleeping here." 

Looking away from her, Spike continued, making an effort to sound as annoyed as possible. 

"It's bad enough you were here all night, now you have to complain too?" 

Holding up her right hand, Buffy pointed at Spike with her index finger. 

"No, no, no. Let's get something straight here. I was unconscious. Emphasis on the not-awake part of that. Didn't really have a choice in where we went." 

Spike didn't answer; he turned away from Buffy, searching for an open package of cigarettes. She was exaggerating, Buffy had only been unconscious for a few minutes, just long enough for Spike to worry that she was seriously injured. But they both knew that she could have gone back to her house after she woke up, if she'd wanted to. 

For the past two weeks Buffy had started to rely on having Spike patrol with her; she was tired of imposing on Xander or Willow and it was too much of a pain to listen to Giles drone on and on about nothing. But Spike made the seemingly mundane patrols almost fun. He was constantly critiquing her style, telling Buffy when she was lifting her arm too high or not following through on a kick. Usually Spike just sat back and watched her fight, smoking a cigarette and correcting her. That is until his craving for a 'spot of violence' got to be too overwhelming and he leapt into the fray. 

Buffy wished that she could watch him fight, she could see how fluid his movements were out of the corner of her eye, but she wanted to openly gawk. All in the interest of improving her technique, she reassured herself constantly. 

Shaking her head, Buffy twisted the cap off the water and took another long sip. Her weapons bag was propped against the side of the sofa, her shoes beside it, and her navy blue long-sleeved t-shirt resting half on the pile and half on the dusty floor. The sleeveless top she'd been wearing was ruined, lying in a shredded mess next to the door. In the back of her mind, Buffy knew that she really shouldn't make a habit of staying at Spike's crypt; it was just giving him hope that there was a chance for something to happen between them. 

Gnawing on her lower lip, Buffy took another sip of half-empty bottle. She hadn't meant to fall asleep on his couch, especially after she'd practically camped out there in the nights right after her nightmares started. But last night they'd been out until practically sunrise and Buffy really hadn't been in the mood to walk back to her house, especially when every muscle in her body felt bruised. 

Besides, Spike's crypt was so close and it was easier for her to sleep on his lumpy couch then to go back to her empty house. _It's just nice_, she thought, _knowing that there's someone here who loves me. And it's not like I'm encouraging him because he knows that I'm not in love with him, but sometimes I just feel…_.

"So what're you doing today," Spike asked, leaning against the sarcophagus, a cigarette dangling from his lips. 

He curled his lips around the white filter and looked at Buffy expectantly; completely unaware that he had shattered her train of thought. Plucking at the stray pieces of hair falling out of her messy ponytail, Buffy tried to concentrate on answering his question instead of analyzing her feelings. 

"I have to go talk to that lady over at UC Sunnydale," she said, "the one who's in charge of classes." 

Spike took another drag on his cigarette, watching Buffy tuck her legs underneath her body as she tried to find a comfortable position on his couch. God she's beautiful, he thought admiringly. She was barefoot, wearing a simple pair of jeans and a tight black tanktop, her hair tied up in a complicated looking mess; to Spike she looked perfect, absolutely gorgeous. One of the spaghetti straps holding up her flimsy black tank top had fallen off her shoulder, and his fingers itched to push it back up her arm. 

Buffy stopped talking, feeling his eyes on her. 

"What," she asked, sitting up a little straighter, feeling like a little kid who'd been caught trying to sneak a cookie before dinner. 

Her eyebrows came together, a few wrinkles of confusion appearing on her forehead as she stared at Spike, waiting for an answer. 

He shook his head, flicking a long ass from the end of his cigarette, "nothing." 

Narrowing her eyes, Buffy looked at him for another minute, waiting to see if he would say anything else. 

When he didn't continue, she took a deep sigh and dove back into talking about her classes. 

"The woman I talked to at the registrar's office said that it didn't look like there'd be a problem getting registered. I mean, I'm just kinda nervous, you know? Like my grades weren't the most terrific last time I actually showed up for class and I'm just kinda worried that…" 

Spike shook his head, "you'll be fine," he said, his voice oddly reassuring. Almost concerned, Buffy observed, protective. 

Clearing his throat he continued, a devilish smile flickering over his face, "but if she needs a little convincing, just say the word." 

Arching her left eyebrow, Buffy interrupted, "you'll what? Vamp out and end up rolling on the ground with a migraine? Yeah, that'd be a big help." 

"Forget I even offered," Spike growled, but there wasn't any anger behind his harsh words. 

"I gotta get going," Buffy said, pushing herself off the couch and tossing the bottle of water back at Spike. 

"See you tonight?" 

He nodded slowly, watching her walk out the door, into the welcoming early morning sunlight. 

Moving across the crypt, Spike picked up the blanket that Buffy had left in a rumpled heap on the sofa. Folding the frayed material, he brought the blanket to his nose before throwing it over the back of the cushions. He could still smell her, the light citrus scent mixed with her shampoo and a scent that was uniquely Buffy. 

"I really love that girl," he said softly, flopping onto the sofa that she had just vacated. 

He could still feel her warmth on the badly worn cushions, making Spike feel like he was surrounded by her essence. 

Willow peeked at her watch, suppressing a groan when she saw that it was almost seven. Behind the cash register of the Magic Box, Anya was ringing up the last customer. 

"And have a nice day," Anya chirped, her face frozen in a permanently wide smile as she passed the plastic bag over the counter and into the hands of the elderly man. He nodded, shuffling slowly out the front door of the shop. 

Once the door slammed shut, Anya leaned her elbows against the glass surface and looked over wearily at Giles. "Are we done yet," she asked, tangling her hands through her newly-dyed brown hair. 

Taking off his glasses, Giles swiped halfheartedly at the lenses with his shirttail, "I suppose so, though I'm surprised that you're willing to give up any potential sales in order to close early." 

Lifting the wooden shelf that separated the counter from the main floor of the shop, Anya shook her head. 

"Early?! It's three minutes to seven! I've been here for ten hours," she whined, swinging her purse onto her shoulder. 

Willow mumbled something in agreement and Giles turned towards the redhead. "What did you say," he asked, smoothing out his rumpled gray button-down. 

"I said that I've been here for at least eight," she repeated, resisting the urge to fall asleep at the research table. 

Tara broke in, "and I got here before you did." 

"I say next time we close two days before and two days after," Xander chimed in. 

Giles shook his head in exasperation, "but if we close, then that defeats the entire point of the sale. We want to get rid of things and we can't do that if the shop's closed." 

"He does have a point though," Willow said, "we might have more luck with the sale if we weren't so tired." 

Pushing herself up from the table, she walked into the back office. 

"Anybody want a drink while I'm back here?" 

A chorus of no's filled the shop, interrupted by the tinkling bell at the front door. 

"Hi guys," Buffy said, her loud voice resonating through the still room. 

Everyone shuddered at the noise and Buffy giggled softly, "sorry." She crossed the room, perching on the edge of the wooden research table. 

"So how was the massive 'yah! the world didn't end' sale?" 

Before Giles and Anya could start to tell her about how much money they had made, Xander broke in. He really didn't want to hear Anya's views on the wonders of capitalism, especially since he had been listening to the same spiel for the past week. 

"You're in a good mood, Buffy," he said, hoping that he wasn't crossing some social taboo. Glancing around quickly to make sure that Willow and Tara weren't shooting him identical looks of disgust, Xander figured that he was safe. 

Buffy tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled sheepishly, "guess I am," she said softly. 

"So everything worked out with the registrar," Willow asked, coming back into the main room with a bottle of water in her hand. Nodding, Buffy reached for a cookie on the center of the table. 

"Yeah, she said that I can start classes in the fall and that I won't really have that much to make up." 

"That's good," Tara replied, smiling encouragingly, "at least she didn't give you a hard time." 

Buffy nodded again, grimacing at the terrible taste of pecan, chocolate and something else that she couldn't identify. 

"Who made the cookies," she asked, choking down the bite before dropping the rest onto a napkin. 

"I did," Anya chirped and Buffy shook her head in understanding. 

"That makes sense," she muttered under her breath, causing Giles to break into a sudden coughing fit to hide his laughter. 

Oblivious to the fact that her cookies weren't fit to be fed to animals, Anya continued on, "and I couldn't get the cake to look like the one on the box, so I dumped all the ingredients into a muffin pan and made muffins. But they turned black so I had to use all my leftover supplies to make the cookies. I was a little worried about using lemon sherbet instead of lemon juice, but they turned out alright. Didn't they?" 

Xander chuckled wrapping an arm around his fiancée's shoulders, "they're fine Ahn." 

Needing to change the subject, Buffy turned to her Watcher. "So the sale went well," she asked, swinging her feet back and forth against the rung of the chair. 

Giles nodded empathetically, "it went surprisingly well," he said, his enthusiasm a result of the never-ending supply of coffee that Tara had kept brewing in the back room. 

Laughing softly to herself, Buffy sat down at the table, "sorry I missed it," she mumbled. 

Before Giles could ask Buffy how her patrols had been the last two nights, the phone rang. Sighing, the Watcher pushed himself away from the table and made his way over towards the counter. 

"Hello," he asked, resisting the urge to yawn into the receiver. The instant he heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line, Giles straightened his back, his eyebrows coming together in a concerned v-shape. 

"Right… I see… No it's not a problem…. I'm sure… Oh… No, I didn't know that…. Right… Oh…. Oh… Dear Lord… Alright. Tomorrow then." 

Hanging up the phone he turned to face the Scoobies who were gathered around the table and Spike who had slipped in through the back door while he was talking. 

"Who was that," Willow asked, almost afraid of the answer judging by the grave expression on Giles' face. Swallowing hard over the lump in his throat, Giles replied, his voice eerily calm and quiet. 

"Quentin Travers. It seems that we have a problem." 


	6. You Made My Blue Eyes Blue

  
"What happened?" 

Giles turned towards Buffy, reading the traces of worry in her voice and smiled thinly, wishing that he didn't have to tell her why Travers had called. 

"Giles," she pressed, taking a step towards her Watcher, "what happened?" 

The muscles in his jaw clenched in protest, trying to hold back the words. 

"Faith," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving Buffy's, "she's dead." 

Buffy's jaw dropped open, her eyes filling with tears as the implications of his words hit her. "Oh God," she whispered, her eyes rolling back in her head as her body pitched forward. 

"Another Slayer's already been called," Giles continued but the words didn't penetrate the fog surrounding Buffy's mind. 

She was falling, catapulting down through the inky blackness of oblivion like a leaf caught in a furious gush of wind. Everything was fading away, a steady cloud of darkness blanketing her world. The Magic Box looked like someone had turned out all the lights, all the shadowy colors were blending together into a mess of distorted shadows. Closing her eyes, Buffy surrendered to the blackness, too tired to fight the overwhelming crush of emotions. The voices around her softened until they were just whispers, leaving nothing between her and the welcoming solace of unconsciousness. 

She crumpled towards the floor, a blur of red and blonde falling down to the linoleum floor. Before she could smash her head, Spike's arms were around her waist, holding Buffy a few inches off the ground. He lifted the tiny Slayer into his arms, laying her on the wooden bench beside the research table. 

Almost the instant Buffy's body made contact with the hard wood, her eyelids fluttered open and she tried to push herself into a sitting position. The only thing preventing her from sitting up and probably falling off the bench was Spike's hand resting on her shoulder. 

His concerned face hovering inches from hers, Spike's blue eyes flickered back and forth from Buffy's pale complexion and the worried faces of the Scoobies. 

"You alright, pet," he asked, his voice low enough to send shivers through Buffy's already weak body. She nodded quickly, pushing away his hand angrily. 

"I'm fine," she snapped. 

Spike didn't move away immediately, he stayed crouched down beside the bench, staring intently into Buffy's green eyes. He didn't believe for a minute that she was "fine"; Spike had seen Buffy when she was fine and that didn't involve pasty white skin and tiny beads of sweat dotting her hairline. 

"Look, I said I was fine," she spat, pushing Spike out of her way as she sat up, "would you stop with the hovering?" 

Clenching his hands in tight fists, Spike nodded curtly, standing up and taking several steps back in a fluid movement. He bowed at the waist, swinging his arm out towards the open room. 

"Of course," he said, a sardonic grin on his face that made Buffy's stomach flip flop. 

_I'm such a bitch_, Buffy thought to herself, watching the veins in Spike's hand bulge as he squeezed the fist tighter. Ignoring the pangs of guilt stabbing at her, Buffy twisted her mouth in a thin line. 

"What are you still doing here," she asked Spike, her voice dripping with venom, trying to sound as annoyed as possible. She had to keep up her defenses; she couldn't let Spike see how much she cared. 

"Forgive me for caring if you smashed your bloody head open," Spike retorted, a faint glimmer of gold sparkling in his eyes. 

Buffy shrugged, pursing her lips in her best expression of indifference. 

"Thanks," she said, the words sounding more like a death sentence then an expression of gratitude. 

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it," Spike pressed, trying his best to maintain the suggestive edge that always marked their verbal banter. Standing up, Buffy drew herself up to full height, which unfortunately was several inches smaller then Spike. She advanced slowly towards Spike, ignoring the humming in her ears and the bright spots swimming in front of her eyes. 

"Get out Spike," she said, her voice low and measured. 

"I don't need you here." 

Narrowing her eyes, Buffy turned away from Spike, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

"I never need you." 

Even as the words fell from her lips, Buffy knew that she was lying. She needed Spike, more then she would ever admit. But this wasn't the right time, not in the Magic Box, not in front of her friends. That's why she couldn't look him the eye, because Spike would know that she was lying. 

Buffy pretended to be fascinated by the pattern of scratches on the tabletop, ignoring the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could feel her friends staring at her and Spike, pretending that they weren't hanging onto every word, acting like this little spat wasn't the most interesting thing they had seen in weeks. 

"Fine," Spike said, his voice dangerously calm, "guess some things never change." 

Stalking over to the doorway, he paused long enough to throw a murderous scowl at the petite blonde. Buffy refused to even look at him, turning her head to the bookshelf closest to her. She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat, trying to maintain her stoic composure and not break down in front of Spike. 

"Bugger this," he snapped, swinging open the door, the black leather billowing behind him in the light breeze as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He stalked angrily down the street, his heavy footsteps echoing loudly. Ripping a package of cigarettes out of his duster, Spike struggled with the cellophane for a moment before tearing the plastic savagely. 

Pale strands of moonlight illuminated the black-clad figure as he stormed down the street, cursing his un-beating heart. 

"And here I thought we were getting somewhere," he ranted to himself, "bloody fool I was." 

Kicking open the door to his crypt, Spike walked straight for the refrigerator. He pulled out three glass bottles, smiling grimly as he watched the liquor slosh back and forth. Flopping down in his favorite armchair, the one that Buffy had been sleeping on for days, Spike threw the top off one of the bottles. He took a long swallow, relishing the burning path that the alcohol tore down his throat. 

"Where to start," he mused darkly, finally grabbing the vodka and ripping the cap off, throwing it into the shadowy corners of the room. Collapsing into the worn brown armchair, Spike took a long swallow of the liquor, relishing the burning sensation it created in his throat. 

"Can't believe I actually thought that she had feelings for me," he complained. Taking another swallow, Spike looked at the label of the bottle, not seeing the words printed there. 

"Bitch," he said simply, hating how she could tear him apart with a single look. With another long swallow, he finished the bottle. Tossing it aside, Spike vaguely registered the sound of shattering glass as he reached for the second bottle. 

He needed something, anything, to obliterate the images of Buffy that continued to taunt him. 

Back at the Magic Box, the Scoobies looked at each other in stunned silence. Buffy muttered something unintelligible under her breath, pushing past Giles as she hurried into the training room. 

Willow exchanged glances with the Watcher, "I'll take care of it," she suggested, "you guys finish closing up." Before anyone could argue, Willow was already closing the back door behind her. 

Buffy was leaning against the pommel horse, her back to the door, hands spread across the width of the leather surface. Sighing deeply, Willow tried to figure out if this situation required tough love or empathy. Opting for the former, she walked across the room towards the Slayer until she was right behind Buffy's left shoulder. 

"You're an idiot." 

Buffy's head snapped up, her green eyes narrowed to tiny slits as she turned to stare at her best friend in shock. 

"What," she asked, her anger thickening her voice to a growl, daring the redhead to continue. 

Willow stared back at Buffy, her mouth set in determined line. 

Walking over to stand beside Buffy, Willow rested her back against the pommel horse. 

"He loves you," she said simply, bringing her hand back to the pendant hanging around her neck, twisting the stone between her fingers, as if that explained everything. Buffy sighed, dropping her shoulders in defeat. 

"I know," she said, her voice just above a whisper. 

Now it was Willow's turn to look up in surprise, she hadn't expected Buffy to acknowledge Spike's feelings towards her, much less within the first few minutes of their conversation. Even though the two were close, they always seemed to dance around the issue of Spike; Willow had always attributed Buffy's reluctance to the bad memories left over from the botched 'will be done' spell, but in the last few weeks she had started to wonder if there wasn't some other reason why Buffy always avoided talking about the blonde vampire. 

"Really," she said, dragging out the word for emphasis, trying to see if Buffy was going to say anything else. Willow couldn't imagine the petite Slayer deliberately being so cruel to Spike, especially since she apparently knew that he was head over heels in love with her. 

"He told me a while ago," Buffy said, talking more to herself then to Willow. 

She shivered, remembering the chains and Spike's repeated declarations of love. Reluctantly Buffy had to admit that even though it was one of the most bizarre things she had ever seen in her life, Spike's unbeating heart was in the right place. Even if that right place was in a world where offering to stake his former lover counted as proving that he was really in love. 

"Then why did you just flip out," Willow asked, gesturing towards the Magic Box. Buffy didn't answer; her eyes were fixed on some spot on the mat. Willow watched her friend intently, waiting for some flicker of emotion, anything. Sighing heavily, she pushed away from the horse, intent on walking out of the back room. Apparently this wasn't the right time for quality bonding with Buffy. 

"I'm scared." 

Willow froze halfway across the room; she turned back towards Buffy, genuinely interested in her friend's answer. 

"Of what?" 

Buffy tugged on her lower lip with her front teeth, looking everywhere except at Willow. 

"Where do I start," she said, exhaling loudly, letting out a short laugh that sounded more like a bark then a casual giggle. 

Realizing that Willow wasn't going to let her walk out the door until she got an answer, Buffy hugged her knees to her chest and tried to make sense of the thoughts swirling through her head. 

"I never asked for this," Buffy began, "I never did anything to encourage Spike. I mean I never asked him to fall in love with me! God, what is it about me that just screams 'normal guys need not apply'?" 

Willow shrugged and waited for Buffy to continue. 

"I'm scared," Buffy said again, lifting her eyes to meet Willow's, tears threatening to spill over. Pulling her upper lip into her mouth, Buffy stared at the ceiling, trying to maintain some kind of composure. 

"I feel … something … for him. And I can't deal with that." 

Shaking her head, Buffy got off the mat and began to pace the training room. 

"He's a vampire, I'm the Slayer. It's sick and twisted! God, it's wrong on so many levels! I can't even begin to explain how screwed up this is - " 

"He's not Angel." 

Buffy stopped in the center of the room, tipping her head to the side as she looked at Willow. 

"I know that," she whispered. 

Shaking her head, Willow got up to stand beside Buffy. 

"Do you," she asked gently. 

Buffy nodded slowly, her face scrunched up with uncertainty. 

"I just don't want to get hurt," Buffy whispered, her face crumpling, her shoulders dropping in defeat. 

Willow sighed with understanding, wrapping her arms around the trembling blonde. Warm tears soaked through the front of her shirt as Buffy mumbled unintelligible words and muffled apologies to no one in particular. 

Sniffling loudly Buffy disentangled herself from Willow's arms. 

"Nobody wants to get hurt," the witch explained gently as Buffy tried to wipe away the mess of black mascara pooling in the corners of her eyes. 

"But Spike's different." 

"What d'ya mean," Buffy asked in confusion. 

"It's the way he looks at you," Willow explained, "like nothing else matters, except you. Anybody can see that he cares about you. I mean you probably never noticed, but when he thinks no one's looking he just stares at you. Like he wants to memorize every detail because he's afraid that you're going to slip away." 

Buffy swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. 

"Is it wrong," she asked nervously, tucking loose pieces of hair behind her ear. 

Willow's forehead wrinkled in confusion and she continued. 

"That I want to be loved like that?" 

Willow smiled, "no. It isn't wrong, everyone wants someone to love them, someone who makes you feel loved." 

"But Spike," Buffy broke in, "he's not really the right guy for me." 

"And what is right," Willow asked, emphasizing the last word. "No one's saying that you have to marry him. Just talk to him, try to see past the whole vampire thing. I mean, it's not really that big of a deal." 

Buffy shrugged, not ready to tell Willow that she did see past the 'whole vampire thing', and that she was more scared of Spike pushing her away then she was of her friends not accepting him. 

"Who are you and what have you done with Willow," Buffy teased, trying to get the conversation back on a lighter note. 

"Somehow I didn't see you being all 'go Spike go'." 

The redhead pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, "I wasn't, before. You know, pre-Glory? But everything's different now. I mean, it wasn't his fight but he still did everything he could to save Dawn." 

Buffy nodded slowly, surprised at how observant and understanding Willow was being. 

"So what do I do now," she interrupted. 

Willow shook her head, "how should I know? I'm at my limit for sage advice today." 

The two girls giggled, forgetting the stress of the last hour for a minute. 

As their laughter faded away, Giles pushed open the door to the training room. 

"Are you alright," he asked Buffy, a worried frown on his face. 

She shook her head, "not yet, but I'm getting there."


	7. Can't Escape

  
Buffy didn't know how long she'd been standing outside. Ten minutes? Maybe fifteen? Either way, she was still in front of the Magic Box, even though everyone had left long before. Giles had locked up the shop hours ago but she'd made some flimsy excuse about wanting to get some training time in before heading home. Actually, she just wanted to clear her mind and the best way to do that was usually on patrol. But Buffy couldn't bring herself to go combing through the cemeteries, not because she was avoiding Spike but because she was too distracted; at least that was the rational she had used in her head. After what felt like hours of punching the sand-filled bag hanging from the ceiling, she had finally decided to call it a night. 

The streets were so quiet at night, vampire and demon activity had been light since the battle with Glory, making Sunnydale feel like a normal California town. Closing her eyes, Buffy sat down on the curb, wrapping her arms around her knees, resting her chin on the rough denim of her jeans. She was so glad that her friends had left without a fight; it was such a pain to be on the receiving end of four sets of sympathetic expressions. Buffy couldn't stand the way that everyone thought she was so distraught over Faith's death, when in actuality her friends couldn't be further from the real reason behind her depression. 

She was so tired; tired of pretending to care that the Hellmouth was going to be overrun by the demon du jour, tired of listening to Giles drone on and on about the Council and what to do now that Faith was dead, tired of pretending to be excited about the prospect of not being an active Slayer, tired of fighting battle after battle with nothing to show for it, tired of her friends and their constant questions, tired of being alone, tired of having more responsibilities thrust onto her shoulders every day simply because she had been chosen. 

Buffy exhaled slowly, hating how shaky her breath sounded, like she was trying not to break down into tears. Swallowing hard, she looked down the deserted street, watching the streetlight cast eerie shadows on the pavement. She still couldn't believe what had happened; her day was going so well and then bam, it all fell apart. First the call about Faith and then the scene with Spike. She dropped her head in defeat; Spike, there was a whole issue unto itself. 

She could still see his face, not the cold mask that he put up to fend off her harsh words, but that momentary glimpse of weakness. The way his eyes fell and his jaw tightened, trying to maintain some form of control in front of her. Buffy hated what she did to him, not just a few hours ago in the shop, but all the time. Even though she tried to justify keeping her distance from Spike, Buffy knew that she was lying to herself. 

He was in love with her, he'd said it more times then she could count and yet for some reason, she never had a problem manipulating his feelings to suit her needs. Blackmailing him into helping her, all in the name of love; purely one-sided love, she kept reminding herself. 

_I am such a bitch_, she thought, resting the side of her face against her knees, tucking her body into a tight ball. _No wonder I can never keep a boyfriend_. 

Her eyes widened as the thought hit its mark; she'd put Spike in the same category as Angel and Riley, as a boyfriend, not a mortal enemy, or training partner, but a long-term relationship, hoping for a serious commitment kind of guy. 

_I'm screwed_, she thought. _Completely and utterly screwed_. 

Cupping her face between her palms, Buffy shook her head back and forth slowly. 

_Great, just great_, she thought, _I'm falling for Spike. As if my day couldn't suck anymore. But it's not like I planned this. I mean I didn't go out looking for another vampire to fall in love with. _

"Shit," she whispered, "bad thoughts. *Bad*, very bad." 

Shaking her head, Buffy tried to justify her traitorous heart to the empty street. 

"I'm not in love. I can't be *in love*. This is Spike I'm talking about. I'm not in love with Spike. I just have feelings for him … Non-love related feelings … I mean there's a potential there, a teensy-weensy little bit of potential, but not *love* … I can't be in love … right?" 

She sighed heavily again, not caring that she was talking to thin air. 

"Even if I was, it wouldn't matter. *Definitely* wouldn't matter. God, I wouldn't be surprised if he left Sunnydale, after the hell I've put him through. If I was him, I'd probably leave tonight." 

For some reason the thought of Spike leaving didn't sound like the answer to her problems, instead it formed a cold pit of dread in Buffy's stomach. 

_What if I finally pushed him too far_? 

The thought swirled through her mind like a relentless mantra, a sudden outpouring of emotions wiping away any trace of logic and reason. 

"My life sucks," Buffy said shakily, standing up from the curb, brushing gravel off her pants before swiping half-heartedly at the tears streaming down her cheeks. Wrapping her arms tightly around her waist, clutching handfuls of her tanktop in her fists, Buffy slowly started her walk back towards Revello Drive. 

A few minutes later, turning down her street, Buffy looked up at the inky black sky, searching for the brightest star she could find. When she was little, Joyce had told her that whenever someone wished on the brightest star and the star fell, then their wish would come true. But it was too overcast to really see any bright stars twinkling overhead, and Buffy sighed again. 

"Guess there isn't going to be a happily ending for me tonight," she complained, turning onto the small path leading up to her front porch. 

With one foot on the step, she stopped, squinting in the dim light, cursing at herself for not replacing the porch light when it had burned out. There was something, no, someone, lying in front of her door. Narrowing her eyes to tiny slits, Buffy pulled a stake out of the waistband of her jeans and inched closer, there was something familiar about the black-clad heap of limbs. 

In fact, there was something too familiar about the leather coat and the shocking white-blond hair. "Spike," she exhaled, her voice a mixture of relief and exasperation. Rolling her eyes towards the sky, Buffy tucked the stake back in her pants. She gingerly kicked his shoulder, not sure what in the hell he was doing lying on her front porch at four-thirty in the morning. When he didn't move, she kicked harder, this time flipping Spike onto his back. Leaning down, Buffy sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming stink of alcohol. 

"Oh this is just wonderful," she muttered. "You're drunk. Perfect. And you're on my porch. Absolutely perfect. Thank you Spike. This is exactly what I wanted to find when I came home." 

Buffy started to climb over his body, her hand reaching for the doorknob, when her conscience got the better of her. 

"I guess I can't just leave you there, huh?" 

Unlocking the front door, Buffy threw her weapons bag in the foyer before grabbing hold of Spike's legs. 

"Y'know Spike, you're a real pain in the ass," Buffy complained. Swinging the vampire over her shoulders, she bent her body forward to absorb some of his weight. 

"God you're heavy," she complained, "would it kill you to lose a pound … or ten?" 

Kicking the door shut behind her, Buffy moved into the living room, throwing Spike onto the sofa. Shaking her head in disbelief, she closed the drapes tightly, making sure that she wouldn't wake up to a pile of ashes on her couch. Lifting his upper body, she pulled his duster off, tossing it on a nearby armchair. Untying his combat boots, Buffy grinned when she saw that even his socks were black. Dropping the boots on the floor with a heavy thud, Buffy moved up the sofa to sit beside Spike. 

"You're such a pain," she told him, perching on the sofa cushion; her thumb tracing random patterns on his palm. Her left hand hovered above his face, itching to caress his sharp cheekbones but not wanting to wake him up. Deciding that nothing would wake Spike up in this state, Buffy gently ran her hand down the side of his face. She let her hand rest in the hollow of his cheek, her fingernails just grazing his eyelashes. 

"Don't know what I'm going to do about you," Buffy said softly, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. Draping a blanket over his body, Buffy took one last look at her sleeping vampire. Making sure the door was locked and the curtains drawn, she turned and walked up the stairs towards her room. Just when she thought that she had everything all figured out, Spike threw her for yet another loop. 


	8. The Hardest Thing

  
Spike opened his eyes slowly, squinting to block out the blinding light that assaulted him. He groaned, lifting his arm to cover his face, it felt like a thousand midgets had started playing conga drums inside his head, ramming cymbals between his eardrums. Screwing up his face, Spike ground his head further into the armrest of the sofa, willing the midgets to shut up and leave him alone. 

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the citrus perfume imbedded within the fabric of the sofa. Wrinkling his nose, Spike sniffed again. He didn't remember his couch smelling so girlish; usually it stank of old liquor and stale cigarette smoke. And when was the last time his crypt was so bloody bright?

"Where the hell am I," Spike asked, sitting straight up, his eyes flying open. Instantly he wanted to lay back down as the midgets re-doubled their efforts inside his head and the light tripled in intensity. Flopping back down onto the cushions, Spike hissed as his head collided with the hard arm of the sofa. 

Allowing his head to loll back against the side of the sofa, Spike looked blearily at the ceiling. 

"Christ I'm hungover," he said, his tongue thick from sleep and liquor. 

Narrowing his eyes, Spike tried to remembered what he did last night. The last thing he remembered was leaving his crypt to get blood from Willie's and there was no way in hell he was in Willie's backroom. _So where am I? What did I do after I left the crypt? _

Sitting up slowly, Spike tentatively put his feet on the floor, resting his head between his bent knees. Looking down at the Oriental rug beneath his socks, Spike tilted his head to the side. There was something familiar about the faded blue and green pattern, it looked almost like the rug that Buffy had in her living room. 

The Slayer!

Spike's head snapped up, his hangover momentarily forgotten as he looked around wildly. Buffy's house, he was in Buffy's house! But how did he end up there? And why the hell was he half-dressed and lying on her sofa? 

"Shit," Spike mumbled, "what happened last night?"

Standing up slowly, Spike walked towards the kitchen, listening for something that would tell him where Buffy was. The last thing he needed this morning was getting jabbed at by Mr. Pointy. But Buffy's house seemed unusually quiet, like he was the only person there. 

"Buffy? Slayer?" 

Spike poked his head into the kitchen, his forehead wrinkling when an empty room greeted him. _Maybe she isn't awake yet_, he thought, _seeing as there's no coffee out_. Turning around to walk out of the kitchen, a folded piece of paper sitting on the center island caught his eye. Walking over to it, Spike picked up the paper, turning it over in his hands. His eyes narrowed as Spike tried to decide whether it was worth reading. His name looked so out of place, scribbled in Buffy's handwriting, a mixture of printed and cursive letters on the front of the note. 

Sighing heavily, Spike ripped open the paper, his eyes widening as the hastily written words sank into his mind. 

_I know you're probably wondering what all this is about, _the note began, _and Spike, I wish I could tell you. But I don't know, I don't understand….it's too much for me. I can't deal with this anymore. So I'm leaving. _

And yeah I know that a Slayer would never sneak away in the dark, but I'm not the Slayer anymore. I'm just me. Just plain old Buffy. 

Tell Giles that I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye and tell everybody…I don't know, tell them something really profound and say that I said it. I really don't even care. 

Don't try to find me Spike. Please, just leave me alone. Let me be normal for once. 

I'm sorry that I'm not the girl you thought I was. 

Scrawled beneath the last line was a lopsided heart and she'd signed her name next to it. 

"Buffy." 

Spike breathed out her name, a mixture of a sigh and a curse. What was she thinking? She couldn't just leave; she was the Slayer, the Chosen One. No matter what the Council said, she would always be the Slayer. And a normal life, who was she kidding? Buffy wasn't meant to fit in to a neat little mold, she was meant to stand out. 

He dropped the note, watching the thin sheet of paper flutter to the floor. For the first time in years Spike didn't know what to do. A part of him was screaming to go find Buffy and bring her home, but Spike knew what it was like to want to escape, to hide away from your past. Maybe she needed some time, some space to herself. But she'd come back, she couldn't just leave her friends; she couldn't run away from her life. 

Could she? 


End file.
